Inside Straight
by shinigami nanoda
Summary: Race unveils part of his past, but how will it affect his future?
1. One

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies.want to do something about it?  
  
My shirt is soaking wet. Of course, it's not water wet, it was the 'if you're so drunk you can't hold your drink, stay away from me.oh lovely. Now your drink's on my shirt.NO! Of course you can't have it!' wet. The cheep beer Skittery was drinking kinda starts smelling funny after a while, needless to say I minded. But not too much. After all, it was better than the beer shampoo I got the last time he was like this.  
  
As it was Skittery's fault that my shirt was a mess, I had no qualms about taking one of his to change into. I didn't have another clean undershirt, but I really didn't want to smell like beer with Skittery as drunk as he was, so I ignored that little detail.  
  
While I was stripping off my undershirt Jack came into the bunkroom. My back was to the door, and I had a shirt wrapped around my head, so I didn't notice him at first. But I did when he gasped.  
  
I got the shirt off from around my neck and turned to face him.  
  
"Whadda you want Jack?"  
  
No answer.  
  
"Jack?"  
  
Silence.  
  
"Hello in there?"  
  
Finally, an answer.  
  
"Your back." He said, shocked at what he saw.  
  
"I have one. Don't everybody?" Now, I thought that answer would let him know I didn't care to talk about the scars on my back. They didn't bother me; I am completely over any mental or emotional stress the ever placed on me. And heck, I like my demons to stay buried.  
  
"What happened?"  
  
I looked at him. How could he be so stupid sometimes? Well, not so much stupid as much as just having a talent of saying the wrong thing at the wrong time. Of course, he never says the wrong thing in front of a crowd, but when it's one on one he just doesn't know when to not say anything.  
  
"Race?"  
  
"Eh?" Stupid kid. Great, but stupid.  
  
"You wanna talk about it?" He looked concerned. And sympathetic. I hate that.  
  
"Not really. There's nothing much to tell anyway." I turned to walk away, but that look he was giving me was getting me annoyed. "Why don't you just go ask Blink how he lost his eye? Or ask Spot where he got his cane?" I was getting angry. What right did he have to pry, anyway?  
  
One glance at Jack's face and I realized I had gone too far. After all, he meant well.  
  
"Or why don't you ask Snipeshooter why he's always stealing my cigars?" I asked, while I put on Skittery's shirt. I smiled to let him know that I wasn't mad at him.  
  
I just hope he's not stuck in one of those moods where he has to offer you a shoulder to cry on. Or shove it in your face even when you don't feel like crying. But I suppose he means well.  
  
Jack laughs and walks past me toward the door. Maybe he's smarter than I give him credit for.  
  
Before he leaves he turns around again and, with that same concerned look on his face, asks me, "You know you can tell me anything, anytime you want, don't you Race?"  
  
I take it back. He's an idiot.  
  
"Yeah, yeah, Jack. I know." I say as I finish buttoning my shirt.  
  
I followed Jack back downstairs and arrived just in time to see Skittery kiss poor Mush on the mouth. And call him Rosey. And pass out.  
  
We all just move Skittery out of the way a little; this has all happened before. He loses his girl and then gets very drunk, which seems to solve all his problems. He'll get a new one in a couple days anyway. Mush, now him I feel sorry for, but I'm glad it wasn't me this time. I'm shorter than most, so Skittery, drunk as he is, usually takes me for a girl. He ends up with a couple bruises to remind him I'm not, but it isn't a pleasant experience.  
  
I hate to be the one to admit it, but Mush looks pretty funny there standing in shock. Kinda like a fish.  
  
For the rest of the evening I find myself deeply involved in a poker game. Jack, on the other hand, just sits there, sending me what I think are supposed to be deep, meaningful looks.  
  
After a about an hour I can't stand anymore of it. I stand up, declare my part in the game over, and take my winnings. Which weren't as much as I usually got. After all, it's kinda hard to concentrate when a guy keeps staring at you. It's creepy.  
  
I walk over toward Jack and sit down next to him. He's still giving me that look.  
  
"So Jack." I start.  
  
Man, that look is making me nervous. Does he never blink?  
  
"If you really want to know what happened, I'll tell you."  
  
AN: HURAH! The prologue is done! I'll get the next part up as soon as I can Review please! 


	2. Two

Disclaimer: As much as it pains me to admit it, I do not own Newsies.  
  
Jack and I went upstairs to the bunkroom and shut the door. I sat down on my bed and picked up a cigar. After all, if I was going to tell the story of my life, I should at least be comfortable.  
  
Jack sat down on the bunk next to me. And there he sits, watching me expectantly.  
  
Now that I was telling someone what happened, I didn't really know where to start.  
  
"Uh, Jack," I looked over at him. "Where should I start?"  
  
"The beginning."  
  
Now that was helpful.  
  
"Well, uh, that makes sense. Here goes." Why am I nervous, I'm just talking. "Would you stop staring at me like that, it's making me nervous!"  
  
I'm not stalling, really. It's just hard to say everything.  
  
"Race."  
  
"Yeah Jack?"  
  
"You don't have to tell me if you don't want to." Oh look at that. His concerned look changed. Now it's more of a supportive sympathy look.  
  
"No Jack, I told you I'd tell you the whole thing." I look at him and he looks away. It's a lot easier to talk without someone staring at you.  
  
"For the first eight years of my life I lived with my parents. I couldn't have asked for anyone better. They loved me and my little sister who was two years younger than me." I smiled, remembering how happy those years had been.  
  
We weren't rich, but we had food to eat and a place to stay. My dad gambled. No, he never lost more than we could afford, so no, he never landed us on the streets. He taught me to play poker too," I paused. There is no way I'm going to get sniffly in front him. "Then, both my parents and my little sister died in the influenza outbreak." But they're in a better place now, I remind myself.  
  
I took a long puff on my cigar. If Jack wanted to hear what happened, he would hear it at my pace.  
  
"My uncle stepped forward and said he would take care of me. He had risen higher in life, so it took some getting used to. Not the bad kind of getting use to, it was just different. There was more of just about everything. Now, my uncle, he loved me and he hated me. He loved me because I was his sister's son. He hated me because I was his sister's husband's son.  
  
He never approved of my dad because my dad gambled. He always said gambling was a sin. My father had already instilled in me a love of gambling and my uncle saw fit to try and beat it out of me. So every Sunday, and on Christmas and Easter he would remind me of it."  
  
I paused again as memories flooded through my mind. The pain of the belt mingled with the smell of Christmas cookies.  
  
I guess I stopped talking for long enough that even Jack knew I wasn't gathering my courage to continue on.  
  
"Race?"  
  
"Yeah?" Of course I meant to keep talking. I just didn't exactly realize that I had stopped.  
  
"How long did you stay there?"  
  
"Do you mind? I'm the one telling the story here." I blow some smoke at him.  
  
He says nothing. I guess he can be quiet when he supposed to after all.  
  
"But since you brought it up, I was there for less than a year. It's not that my uncle was cruel to me. He never did anything to me from Monday to Saturday. In fact, he was very kind, as if he was trying to make up for what he did to me. After all, he thought it was in my best interests."  
  
Oh boy. Jack thinks I'm crazy. I can tell. But I don't hate him. I don't know why I don't, I probably should. I dislike him, yes, and I disagree with him, but I don't hate him. I can't.  
  
"I ran away a few weeks after Easter and, well , you know the rest."  
  
Jack looked at me. Again. "I thought you said you were eleven when you became a newsie."  
  
Oh yeah, I had forgotten about that.  
  
But nine is almost eleven.  
  
"What can I say, I lied." Next time I lie, I'm going to remember it. Really.  
  
"Why?"  
  
"I dunno." I'm sure I had a reason at the time though. Probably something about being in trouble for running away from home. I'm not really sure anymore though, I was a crazy kid.  
  
"Thanks for telling me, Race." He reaches out as if he was going to put his hand on my shoulder, but he stopped. Smart kid, he's learning.  
  
"Well, thanks for listening." I answer while I finish up my cigar. "Come on, let's go back down stairs. Betcha a nickel Skittery hasn't woken up yet."  
  
"Sure." He paused, a deep, meaningful pause. "You're sure your uncle doesn't bother you anymore?"  
  
"Yeah, I'm sure. Now quit stalling, I know what you're doing. The longer you keep me talking the more likely it is you'll win the bet."  
  
Now I find myself in bed, trying to fall asleep despite Blink's deafening snores. Please, someone, turn him over. I'd do it, but I don't want to get up.  
  
And, yes, I'm a nickel richer.  
  
AN: So Race's past is out of the bag. Yes, there is more coming. Soon (with any luck). ^_^;;  
  
Many, many thanks to Legs(your review wasn't lame!), Thistle, and Funkiechick for reviewing the first chapter!  
  
Also- to Tabloid, and again to Legs, Thistle, and Funkiechick for reviewing Laugh.  
  
Dude- you guys are great!  
  
Ah yes, again, review please! 


	3. Three

I think Jack is concerned with my lack of depression from what happened to me. He keeps stealing my razor, which makes it very hard to shave.  
  
I mean, if I wanted to kill myself, wouldn't I have done it already?  
  
Right now though, I'm more worried that I haven't won a single race. Won a single race, yet. But I will. I hope.  
  
"Forty cents on Prancing Hazel."  
  
Now that I'm watching the race I've changed my mind. I should have bet on Bluebell. Of course, this doesn't stop me from yelling my head off.  
  
"COME ON HAZEL!!! YOU CAN RUN FASTER THAN THAT!!!!"  
  
Hazel's pulling ahead now, right next to Bluebell. Their noses are even. I'm screaming myself hoarse now. Hoarse, get it? I crack myself up.  
  
It's the final stretch! Come on, come on!  
  
"Hazel wins by a nose! Ladies and gentlemen now there. . ." The announcer blared.  
  
Hazel won. I won! I knew I felt lucky today.  
  
I walk away from the track with five dollars in my pocket. Five whole dollars. I'm on top of the world and loving every minute.  
  
Two guys come toward me. I haven't seen them around the track before, but they don't look particularly suspicious. . . or like cops.  
  
"You wouldn't happen to be the one they call Racetrack around here, now would you?"  
  
"I might be. You lookin' for him?" I'm not so sure if I trust them. The short one has shifty eyes.  
  
"Actually we are. I'm Joe." The taller one holds his hand out to me. He looks strong enough to snap me in half if he wanted.  
  
I shake his hand and learn that he has a very firm grip.  
  
"Mahoney." I shake his hand too.  
  
Mahoney is short, thin, and wiry. I'd bet almost anything that he's a jockey.  
  
"Why are you two looking for him?" So I'm being careful. It's not everyday when two people come looking for you when you have five dollars in your pocket.  
  
"Well, we just wanted to meet him. We knew his father."  
  
So that was it.  
  
"Come on, we'll take you to dinner. Our treat." Well, if I don't have to pay and I get food out of the deal. . .  
  
They took me to a dingy, dirty bar where they seemed to be well known.  
  
I ate a little and drank a lot. It all kind of blurred together and I don't know how much I've drunk. Well, I know I've drunk too much 'cause everything seems hilarious.  
  
I hate this. I get the giggles when I'm drunk.  
  
"So Racetrack, whadda you say about a game of cards?"  
  
I perked up at that. "Sure."  
  
"One hand, nothing wild, you against Mahoney. Winner gets five, loser pays." Joe pulled out a deck of cards and started shuffling.  
  
What do I have to lose, five dollars? But if I win I'll have ten dollars.  
  
It seemed like a good idea at the time.  
  
Joe passed me the deck and I cut the cards. Then he dealt us each five cards.  
  
I looked at my cards. Three of clubs, four of hearts, five of clubs, seven of diamonds, and jack of spades.  
  
"How many?" Joe asks me, hurrying my decision.  
  
"One." I pass him the jack of spades.  
  
Then I realize what I just did. I bet on an inside straight. Am I crazy? I'm going to lose. There's no way I'll get a six.  
  
I stare at the card Joe dealt me. I pick it up slowly, hoping, but knowing that I'm going to lose.  
  
Wait a minute.  
  
It's a six. The six of hearts to be precise.  
  
I knew I felt lucky today!  
  
That means I won! Assuming of course that Mahoney can't beat my straight.  
  
"Show what you got." Joe again.  
  
"Straight, seven high." I answer, very pleased with myself.  
  
Mahoney looks at my cards, then at me. That evil sort of smirk is making me kinda worried.  
  
"Straight flush, queen high." He proclaims with a triumphant grin.  
  
Lady Luck spit in my eye.  
  
"Pay up kid."  
  
I sullenly slap my five dollars down on the table. Well, it was nice while it lasted.  
  
"Where's the rest of the money?"  
  
"What do you mean? You said it was five." So, he's not content with taking all my money. Next thing you'll know he'll be asking for the shirt off my back. Well, actually it's Skittery's shirt, but that's not my problem, now is it?  
  
"Yeah, I said five. You know, five hundred." He dragged out the last word.  
  
Oh no.  
  
No.  
  
I can't possibly have bet five hundred dollars on one hand. I mean, even drunk I'm not that stupid.  
  
Except that's what I just did.  
  
I swear he said it was five. Never said hundred.  
  
"Well, you can't expect me to carry that much with me, now can you?" Now that sounded really honest. Especially the part where my voice cracked and how I ended with a drunken titter.  
  
"So, if you'll excuse me, I'll just go get it." I get out of my chair.  
  
I start walking out of the bar. Actually I'm running out like a scared rabbit. A very scared, very drunk rabbit. I know they're not that stupid. Hello table. They don't believe me.  
  
Look at that. I made it outside and I only knocked over one table and two chairs in the process.  
  
They're right behind me, but I have fear on my side. I mean, who doesn't run faster when they're afraid for their life?  
  
AN: Tada! Part 3 is finished! I'll put the next part up as soon as I can ^_^  
  
Muchas gracias (hehe.2 years of Spanish and that's about all I remember.) to Funkiechick, Thistle, Sapphy(of course that wasn't foreshadowing. . .*shifty eyes*), and Spatz for reviewing chapter 2!  
  
Unless you're crazy and skipped to the AN without reading the story, please review! 


	4. Four

I'm hiding in someone's home. It's weird; even though I'm against the wall under the window, the room looks lived in. Nothing seems out of place, even though the furniture is mismatched and there are papers and books strewn everywhere. Everything fits, except me. I'm a stranger, peering into a different world. But do I fit in anywhere?  
  
That came out of nowhere.  
  
Must be the beer, and whatever else they gave me, talking.  
  
I wonder who lives here. 'Cause they're pretty stupid for leaving their window open when they aren't home.  
  
I think I actually lost them. I'm not entirely sure, but I'm not going to look.  
  
But maybe I should.  
  
I climb out of the window, which was on the second story and down the fire escape. Then I realize that I should have gone with my gut instinct.  
  
I shouldn't have looked.  
  
Mahoney was standing at the mouth of the alley with his back to me. I started to creep back up, but stopped when I heard Joe yell.  
  
"There he is!"  
  
I never saw Joe come into the alley, but there he was, right next to Mahoney. They were walking toward me and they didn't seem too happy.  
  
I wonder why?  
  
I climb back down from the fire escape; there's still a chance I can get myself out of this. My plan though, is put to an early grave when I trip on the bottom stair.  
  
I pick myself up from where I sprawled on the pavement.  
  
"Heya Joe, Mahoney. Fancy meeting you here." My luck stinks.  
  
Why me? Why?  
  
"I'll pay you back somehow, I promise." I continued babbling, but trailed off when I saw the look in Joe's eyes.  
  
Oh boy. I'm in for it now.  
  
Despite my awe inspiring diplomatic skills they kept walking slowly towards me. Joe pulled something out of his pocket. Brass knuckles. He grabs the collar of my shirt and lifts me until I can barely touch the ground with my toes. I screw my eyes shut. This is going to hurt.  
  
While he's taking his time pulling his arm back to get a good shot at me I take a swing at him. I brushed his shirt, but I didn't hit him. He has long arms, and he's holding me as far away from him as he can.  
  
I hate being short.  
  
Pain erupts on the right side of my face. I try to kick him, but he throws me down.  
  
Then I see Mahoney step toward me. I hadn't been paying attention to him, so I didn't see him pull out the black jack. Actually, it's not a black jack, but I can never remember what they're really called. It's the non- lethal black jack sort of thing that the bulls carry.  
  
It's hard to remember the name of something while you're being hit with it.  
  
Mohoney cracked me over the head and Joe, kind person that he is, caught me. With his knee, in my stomach.  
  
I fell to the ground and curled up in a ball. I'm not a coward, I just know when I can't win. This would be one of those times.  
  
After all, I'm drunk. Am I supposed to be able to fight well?  
  
Someone seems to be having great fun kicking me. I bet it's Mahoney. He looked like the type to kick a guy when he was down.  
  
I don't know how long they keep it up, I just know it doesn't make any difference what I do. I mean, usually I can hold my own in a fight. But I just think of this as a special case.  
  
Oh man. I'm in pain.  
  
And I'm laughing. Not a 'I'm laughing 'cause it's funny laugh', but a 'It's hopeless, I'm doomed' sort of laugh.  
  
Yeah, it's weird, but I can't help it. I'm laughing hysterically, so hard that I'm crying at the same time.  
  
I always wanted to die laughing.  
  
Looks like I just might get my wish.  
  
I think they're stopping. . .  
  
Yup. They're done.  
  
I hope.  
  
Ow.  
  
Wait. Someone, I think it's Joe, has just slung me over his shoulder.  
  
He has a very pointy shoulder.  
  
It's poking my stomach.  
  
Wait.  
  
We're moving.  
  
They aren't done with me yet.  
  
Why, I ask you? Why me?  
  
AN: Ok. . . sorry this part took longer to get up than the others. I'm not sure if I like it as much either. But I'm afraid it's as good as it's gonna get. Anyways. . .  
  
Sapphy: Thanks for the review. . . and yes- Joe needs a good punching ^_^  
  
Legs: Thank you so much. Your review made my day! (and fed my ego.but that's another story ^_^;;) Don't worry, Max Casella solves all problems. . . as does ice cream or brownies.  
  
Thistle: thanks for reviewing!  
  
studentnumber24601: Woohoo! You like it-I'm flattered!  
  
Funkiechick: hehe. . .drunk Race. . . as for the Spot/Race-ness, well, I'll see what I can do *wink, wink * 


	5. Five

Disclaimer: I don't own Newsies, but I do own Joe and Mahoney. . . and Race's uncle. . . and I suppose I own his aunt too.  
  
Step.  
  
Ow.  
  
Step.  
  
Ow.  
  
"Uh, Joe. . . where are we going?"  
  
Silence.  
  
Step.  
  
Ow.  
  
"You can let me down. I promise I won't do anything." Even if I wanted to I couldn't.  
  
Silence.  
  
Step.  
  
Ow.  
  
Each time Joe moved his shoulder dug into my stomach. I think he planned it that way.  
  
I don't know how long we walked, but we finally stopped. Actually I never had to do any walking. I was carried. I can now see why Crutchy is so against it.  
  
Joe let go of me and shrugged his shoulder, letting me fall to the ground. I didn't get up fast enough to suit him, so he hauled me up with a hand on the back of my collar.  
  
We were at the front door of a house. It looked familiar. Very familiar.  
  
Now where have I seen it before?  
  
Mahoney knocked on the door. We didn't have to wait long before a lady came and opened the door.  
  
I stood there in shock. She's my aunt.  
  
This is my uncle's house.  
  
"May I help you?" Aunt Teresa asked, greeting the three of us with a smile.  
  
"We're here to see Mr. Daniel Russo." Mahoney tipped his hat politely.  
  
"I didn't know my husband was expecting visitors."  
  
"Well, he wasn't, but we were in the neighborhood and decided to drop by. I'm dreadfully sorry for the inconvenience we're causing you."  
  
Now there is a guy who can lie through his teeth.  
  
"Oh no, no. It's no trouble at all. Please come in." My aunt held open the door and led us down the hall. "My husband is in the parlor. This way, please."  
  
She brought us to the large wooden door that I remember so well.  
  
"Can I get you anything to eat?"  
  
"No ma'am, but thank you."  
  
Mahoney opens the door and memories come flooding back to me. Memories I thought I had buried.  
  
Fortunately I'm still drunk, the incident in the bar being only a little more than an hour ago.  
  
Mahoney leads the way into the room and Joe pushes me in and shuts the door.  
  
"What can I do for you gentlemen?" That's my uncle for you, always polite.  
  
"Well, you see, this kid here owes us a great deal of money. Five hundred dollars actually."  
  
Liar. I'd already paid him five,  
  
"Four hundred and ninety five." I'm not really sure if anyone understood me. But at least I tried.  
  
"What did he say?" Uncle Daniel closed the book he was reading.  
  
"I'm not sure. Nothing important though. He's drunk. And he owes us money."  
  
"And why should that concern me?" My uncle put down the book he had been holding and stood up.  
  
"'Cause he's Anthony Higgins, your nephew."  
  
"And you want me to pay his debt."  
  
"Well, yes."  
  
"May I ask why he owes you money?"  
  
"He bet five hundred on one hand and lost."  
  
This is gonna be priceless. They're actually asking my uncle to repay money that I owed them 'cause I gambled while I was drunk.  
  
They obviously didn't know my uncle.  
  
"This boy is no nephew of mine. He's a drunken gambler."  
  
The looks on their faces are priceless.  
  
"So you're not gonna pay?"  
  
"No." He paused and sat back down. "If that's all you wanted I would be grateful if you would let me return to what I was doing before I was interrupted."  
  
My uncle radiated disapproval as Joe and Mahoney left, dragging me after them.  
  
My aunt showed us the door and before I knew it we were back outside.  
  
I thought the whole thing was very amusing, but lucky for me the giggles were wearing off.  
  
"You know what? This is all your fault! If you had checked to make sure the old man would bail out his nephew then we wouldn't be in this mess."  
  
Mahoney was angry. I think it's funny. But no laughing. I hurt enough already.  
  
Ow.  
  
"If at first you don't succeed, try, try, again."  
  
"Joe, will you shut up?"  
  
Joe gives Mahoney a few seconds of silence before he starts talking again.  
  
"So, what are we gonna do with him?"  
  
"What are we supposed to do with him? We can't kill him?"  
  
Despite the fact that my life pretty much rested in their conversation, I felt myself drifting.  
  
I feel really dizzy all of the sudden.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know. . . Could it be the whole problem with getting rid of the body?"  
  
"Oh."  
  
I get the impression that Joe isn't very bright.  
  
"Leave him here."  
  
I look up at Joe. He's kinda fuzzy. Of course it might help if the world stopped moving.  
  
I look up at him just in time to see his fuzzy fist come toward my head.  
  
AN: Part 5 is done.  
First, I'd like to apologize. I meant to say that I was going to be gone from the 19th to the 22nd, but when I tried to post this fanfiction.net wasn't working. I'd also like to say I'm sorry this part took so long. . . I didn't have the internet where I was.  
  
On the other hand I have a brilliant idea for a new short story (thanks to my dear and utterly fabulous friend Sara) I call it Crutchy the Mauler. . . I'm planning on posting it after I finish this fic.  
  
Funkiechick: Yay! I liked that line too. . . of course the whole reason I put it in there was because I was too lazy to figure out what they were really called. . . so I decided Race didn't either.^_^;; I wasn't planning on putting any romance in the story, but I thought of a great way to have some spot/race-age going on. . . so I'm going to put it in the shout outs, just for you!  
  
Sapphy: Don't worry. . . the Race-nappers will get what they deserve *manical laughter*  
  
Legs: Thanks for the awesome review! There isn't going to be any romance in this story. . . so don't worry. And Joe and Mahoney get what's coming to them. . . as if finding out their plan didn't work wasn't enough. . . 


	6. Six

The first thing I feel is my cheek pressed against the sidewalk. Then I open my eyes and shut them just as quickly. When I try to move into a more comfortable position I realize the world is spinning.  
  
No more moving.  
  
I ache all over. But that's not the worst part of it. Everything inside me seems to have gone to war with each other. My head and my stomach are winning. Or losing, depending how you look at it.  
  
Oh, the pain.  
  
Half my head is pounding and the other half is throbbing, with a good sharp twinge now and then to keep things interesting.  
  
I shouldn't have drunk so much.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Gonna puke.  
  
Gotta find a bathroom. Gotta find a bathr-  
  
No bathrooms outside.  
  
Gotta find a bucket. Gotta find a-.  
  
Oops.  
  
Well, gutters are like buckets.  
  
I'm up now. Or at least as up as I'm going to get.  
  
Ok, so I'm more hunched over on my hands and knees. But at least I'm moving. Slowly, yes, but moving.  
  
There's one problem though.  
  
I have no clue where I am or where I'm going.  
  
But wherever I'm going, I'll get there. Eventually.  
  
I'm actually on my feet now. With the help of the wall, which would help even more if it stopped moving. I don't know what'd gonna happen when I try to cross a street.  
  
Oh no.  
  
Not again.  
  
Sidewalks are like gutters, which are like buckets.  
  
Ugh.  
  
I'm in pain.  
  
After a while of stumbling and staggering through the streets I decided to stop. I mean, it's not like I'm getting anywhere. I'm probably going in circles. Right now I'm looking for a promising doorway.  
  
I give up.  
  
Doorways all start to look alike after a while.  
  
I chose the closest and sat down, leaning against the wall.  
  
Ow.  
  
I don't think I'll be able to get up again. But I can worry about that later.  
  
I was just about to drift off when I thought of something.  
  
I really hope the door doesn't open out.  
  
Oh well, too late for that now.  
  
I fell asleep.  
  
Only to be rudely awoken when I felt a foot in my side.  
  
Ow.  
  
Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow. Ow.  
  
I didn't want to open my eyes, so I just rolled over. I mean, it's not like whoever the foot belonged to could make me feel worse than I do now.  
  
I'm not just in pain, broke, and kinda hungry. Now I'm depressed.  
  
I had been trying to forget about the past. Sure, some people may think I'm a coward for not facing it, but that's just the way I deal with things. I faced it and buried it. It was supposed to stay buried. If only Joe and Mahoney hadn't come along.  
  
Oh great, now I'm blaming other people for my problems.  
  
At least my head is clearer.  
  
Well, as clear as I think it's going to get for a while.  
  
There's the foot again. What is it with people and getting me in the stomach?  
  
I groan and turn over again, muttering something along the lines of "Go 'way or I'll soak ya."  
  
Apparently whoever was there understood what I said. That takes talent.  
  
"I don't think you should."  
  
That voice sounds familiar.  
  
"Yeah, 'cause then I'd have to get up." I resettle myself into a more comfortable position on the ground.  
  
The foot makes its presence known. Again.  
  
"Will you stop that!" Well, if they understood what I said before, they'll understand that too. With any luck.  
  
"I'll stop if you get up."  
  
I crack an eye open to see who it is.  
  
This just keeps getting worse. It's Spot.  
  
Oh well. There are worse fates than what you get for threatening the leader of Brooklyn. Getting up would be one of them.  
  
"I'm not getting up." My words are muffled by my arm, which makes quite a nice pillow.  
  
Hello foot.  
  
"Come on Race. Get up." He nudges me with his foot.  
  
"Lemme alone."  
  
I wait, but he doesn't poke me with his foot again.  
  
I was just starting to drift off again when it hit me. Ice cold water.  
  
I'm on my feet now, swearing at Conlon. He didn't have to go that far.  
  
I have an audience now. The Brooklyn newsies who are watching are looking at me funny.  
  
I suppose I do look funny. Even though I haven't had a chance to see my face, if it looks like close to what it feels like, it must look pretty bad. That and I don't really get mad very often.  
  
Heh, well these boys are getting quite a show.  
  
AN: Well, chapter 6 is done now. I'll put the next part up as soon as I can. Enjoy.  
  
Sapphy: Oooh. That's a good idea. I never thought of having him wake up in his uncle's house. But I already had something else planned ^_^;;. You'll find out what happens to Joe and Mahoney in the next chapter or two.*bwahhaha*  
  
Legs: About his aunt.well, it gets explained a little later. Don't worry-I could never get mad at you! Thanks again for your review! I always look forward to them. 


	7. Seven

I'm sitting on the ground halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge because I can't walk any further. But if anyone asks, it's because I like the view.  
  
I still hurt.  
  
And I'm still wet.  
  
After venting my anger at Spot I stomped away. I managed to get to where I am now because I was angry, but now I'm kinda out of steam.  
  
I wasn't mad at Spot. He was just a very handy target.  
  
The person I'm really mad at is myself.  
  
Why? Because I feel all depressed.  
  
I hate being gloomy 'cause I always end up going in a downward spiral until I hate myself and the world. It's not fun, which is why I don't do it often.  
  
And that's the real reason why I'm sitting here sulking. That and I hurt.  
  
"Hey Race."  
  
"Heya Spot." I really hope he doesn't realize that I'm moping.  
  
"Mind if I sit down?"  
  
Why is he asking me?  
  
"Make yourself at home." Of course, he is at home. It being Brooklyn and all.  
  
"I got something for ya."  
  
I turn to look at him. Why would he be giving me anything? I mean, we're friends and all, but still.  
  
Everything goes green all of a sudden, but once my eyes focus I realized he was shoving money in my face. I reach up and take it.  
  
"I can't take this Spot."  
  
I can't take his money. I mean, if I won it, that would be one thing, but I can't take it if he just gives it to me.  
  
"Why not?"  
  
I'm not quite sure how to answer, so I just look at him and hope he gets what I want to say.  
  
"Well, it is your money after all." He understood. Smart kid.  
  
Wait. Did he say it was my money?  
  
"Where'd you get it?"  
  
"Well, Jack said he was real worried about you an' all. Said to keep an eye out for you. When you didn't get back last night he sent out word that you might be in trouble." He looked over at me, examining my face. Then he turned away again and smiled. "And by the looks of things, I'd say he was right."  
  
I said nothing. I was still waiting for an answer.  
  
"I was out with some of the others looking for you. Heard you were in Brooklyn. And while we didn't find you, we did find two others." He paused and tilted his head toward me again. "Do the names Joe and Mahoney sound familiar?"  
  
My head snapped toward him at the sound of those two. "What happened?"  
  
"Well, we going down the street when we heard these two guys arguing. Then we heard your name mixed in with it, so we decided it was worth listening to. I didn't know you had an uncle."  
  
"Yeah, well, I don't talk about him much." As in never, until Jack asked.  
  
Spot gave me one of his looks and continued.  
  
"So, we heard enough to know they got you drunk and playing poker. Then they took you to your uncle, only then he wouldn't pay what you owed. Then they dumped you on the side of the road."  
  
I know what's coming. I think it's great. Call me evil, but sometimes revenge is sweet. Especially when you don't have to get your hands dirty.  
  
"I went up to them and asked them where you were. They didn't like that, so the tall one, Joe was it, took a swing at me while Mahoney tried to creep up behind me. After that, of course me and the boys had to defend ourselves. . ."  
  
I laughed. Spot may seem like a jerk sometimes, but he's a great guy to have at your back.  
  
"And then you picked their pockets?" I asked waving the money at him.  
  
"I'm sure they would have done the same to me, given the chance."  
  
I counted the money. Wait a minute.  
  
"Spot?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"There's only four dollars." Now I sound ungrateful. I should work on knowing when to keep my mouth shut.  
  
"Well, I had to take my cut. After all, I could have been hurt."  
  
Yeah right.  
  
As I said before, he can be a jerk, but he's great.  
  
"Well, I suppose that's fair. And Spot," I smiled. Ow. No more smiling. "Thanks."  
  
"Jack should be over here soon. He wanted to make sure you were okay."  
  
"I suppose I should get up then." But I really don't want to.  
  
"I'll go meet him, you stay here."  
  
I put my hand on the railing, getting ready to pull myself up.  
  
I was standing there shakily when I heard Jack yell.  
  
"RACE! DON'T DO IT!"  
  
I turned and saw him running toward me. Then my foot slipped out from under me and I felt myself falling.  
  
AN: Part seven is done! I'll be putting up the 8th chapter tomorrow. . . actually today as it's 12:30.  
  
Shout out! (note the lack of the 's' that would make it plural if I had gotten more than one review. . .)  
  
Sapphy: Thank you soooooooo much for reviewing! There's no such thing as too much fun by the way *wink*. Hehe, Joe and Mahoney got what they deserved. And Race got his money back. . . well, most of it. Again, thank you! Luvsies! 


	8. Eight

Ouch.  
  
Remind me to never get up again.  
  
Jack's face is looming over me as I lie on my back.  
  
"Race, you okay?"  
  
"Do I look okay?" I raise my hand to shade my eyes from the sun.  
  
"Uh. . .right. Anyways, I'm glad I got here in time. Spot says you was gonna jump."  
  
Oh he did, did he?  
  
"But my plan to leave this cruel, cruel world has been thwarted." I sigh dramatically.  
  
I roll my head over to look at Spot. Did you know he turns kinda red when he's trying not to laugh?  
  
"You want a hand Race?" Jack was smiling. I think. The sun is in my eyes.  
  
"Who said I'm getting up?" I'm much safer if I just stay here on the ground. It's a lot harder to fall this way.  
  
Jack never got a chance to answer 'cause as soon as he started Mush came running over. He took one look at me and stopped dead.  
  
"What happened to you?" I guess I look pretty bad. Which is only fair, 'cause I feel pretty bad.  
  
"I lost a bet." Jack offered his hand to me and I took it. Why, I have no idea.  
  
Mush came over and tried to put my left arm over his shoulder. I held it close to my side.  
  
"Other arm, Mush."  
  
He looked at me funny, so in explanation I pulled the collar of my shirt open. The bruise stretched from the top of my shoulder to my collarbone. There's a bigger one on the top of my arm, right below my shoulder, but you can't see it 'cause of my sleeve. It hurt to move it.  
  
"What happened?" Mush again.  
  
"He missed my head." Well, it was true, but not because I dodged. Joe punched me and I started falling over so Mahoney hit my shoulder instead.  
  
Mush threw my other arm around his shoulder, which was very helpful. It hurt a lot less to lean on him then it did to walk on my own.  
  
"Mush, can I ask you somethin'?"  
  
"Yeah, sure."  
  
"What do you call the black-jacky things the bulls carry?" That's been bugging me since last night.  
  
A confused look passed over Mush's face. "Ya know Race, I have no idea." He turned toward where Jack was yelling at Spot.  
  
"You said he was gonna jump!"  
  
"I said he looked like he was gonna jump. I never said he really was." Spot smirked.  
  
"But-" Jack's response was cut off when Mush yelled to him.  
  
"Hey Jack! What do you call the things that the bulls carry around. . . the sticks. . .and they hit ya with them?"  
  
Jack looked at Mush funny. I suppose it was a funny question, and his wording hadn't really helped. He opened his mouth to answer, but Spot beat him to it.  
  
"Nightsticks."  
  
"Thanks."  
  
Ah, my mind was now at peace.  
  
"Why'd you wanna know?" Jack asked Mush, probably wondering why he had asked such a random question.  
  
"Well, Race wanted to know."  
  
"It was just buggin' me, that's all." Now Jack wasn't the only one who thought I was crazy.  
  
Jack decided we should get back to the lodging house, so we set off.  
  
"So, is he gonna bother you now that he knows where you are?" I knew Jack meant my uncle by 'he'. He was trying to not spread my past around. I appreciate that, even though I don't really care if Mush finds out.  
  
"He's known where I was for a long time."  
  
"How can you tell." Jack sounded worried. And from what I told him about my uncle he would be. For my sake.  
  
Friends. Gotta love 'em.  
  
"Well, you know those cookies we get every Christmas that are just left on the doorstep. The ones in the box with the red ribbon."  
  
"Yeah. . ."  
  
"My aunt's cooking."  
  
So my uncle knew where I was. It didn't bother me. I knew he didn't want anything to do with me, and I didn't want anything to do with him.  
  
When we got back to the lodging house I went upstairs to clean myself up. But first I admired myself in the mirror.  
  
I had a bruise that took up about a third of my face. Very impressive. My lip was split in two places and I had a scrape on my forehead.  
  
I washed the blood from my face carefully and went back downstairs. I sat down and the others gathered around me. I soon had a wonderful poker game going, but we all turned to look when we heard the door open.  
  
What the hell is he doing here?  
  
AN: Bwahaha. . .you'll just have to wait to find out who 'he' is. Guess. It's probably who you think it is. . . maybe. I'm sorry this part took so long. I was going to put it up yesterday, but then I decided to rewrite it because I didn't like the way it was before. It's kind of a transition chapter and I'll put up the next part as soon as I can. Remember, feedback is always welcome!  
  
I have a couple questions to whoever reads this.  
  
How old was Max Casella when he played Racetrack? I don't know what part of the year the movie was filmed during, so I don't know if his birthday was before or after (or during) the movie.  
  
In Seize the Day, when "open the gates and seize the day, *repeat by group 2*, don't be afraid and don't delay, *repeat by group2*" is sung there's a guy in the second group who sings pretty high. And it doesn't really sound like a little kid singing. Does anyone know who he is? I call him soprano/falsetto man, but I'm sure he has a name. . .but falsetto man does have a nice ring to it.  
  
Legs: I hope things get better for you. Race wouldn't smack you, he should smack the jerk who's making you sad.  
  
Race: *hands Legs a tissue* Leave her alone or I'll soak ya, ya bum!  
  
Jerk: *Flees in terror*  
  
Race: Heya Legs.  
  
From there on you can use your imagination *wink, wink* Anyways.thank you so much for reviewing! Luvsies!  
  
Sapphy: Jack may seem like an idiot, but this time it wasn't really his fault. Well, not entirely. Thank you for the review! I feel so loved! And if your up to no good. . . just remember, Lesson for do-no-gooders #1: make sure you put on your ski mask so the eye holes are in the front. 


	9. Nine

My uncle stood in the doorway, looking down his nose at his worn and dirty surroundings.  
  
I tensed up and ducked out of my chair. Blink and Mush scooted closer together to hide me from my uncle. Even if they didn't know it was my uncle.  
  
But what was he doing here? He made it quite clear I wasn't his nephew anymore.  
  
"I need to speak with Anthony Higgins. Will you please fetch him for me." It wasn't a request.  
  
"There ain't nobody here who goes by that name." Ah, Jack and his 'improving the truth'.  
  
Technically he was right though. No one calls me Anthony Higgins.  
  
My uncle strode into the room stopping when he was face to face with Jack. He had to look up at Jack, but managed to look down his nose at the same time.  
  
Shortness runs in my mom's side of the family.  
  
He looked over in my direction and I scrunched myself up even smaller behind Blink and Mush.  
  
He must have seen me though because he started talking.  
  
"I need to talk to you. Alone." He demanded in Italian  
  
I muttered a few curses and stayed where I was.  
  
"Anthony." He walked around Mush and Blink and was now right in front of me.  
  
He shouldn't be allowed to do that.  
  
I stood up and walked slowly over toward him.  
  
"In English or not at all. And you can say whatever you have to say here."  
  
"But the others-" He still spoke in Italian as he looked distastefully at Jack and the others.  
  
"I trust them. Which is more than I can say for you."  
  
I didn't really want to hear what he had to say. But if I had to hear it, I didn't want to hear it alone.  
  
"You don't mind them hearing?" The room was silent as the boys all turned to look at my uncle.  
  
"No." They all turned their heads so they were looking at me. Discreetly, of course, but they were all watching.  
  
"I have an offer for you." He paused expectantly.  
  
I said nothing, waiting for him to continue.  
  
Silence.  
  
"Well?" So I'm not the most patient person in the world.  
  
"I would like to ask you to return home."  
  
I didn't see that one coming.  
  
"No." Why would I even want to go back? Has he forgotten what he did?  
  
"What do you mean, no?" I guess it didn't occur to him that I would refuse.  
  
"I mean no, I do not want to go back with you."  
  
He looked me over slowly. "I'll give you a week to think about it."  
  
I don't really think I need a week to decide.  
  
"You're aunt misses you." And with that, he was gone.  
  
That was low.  
  
I miss my aunt. She was the one reason I didn't leave after that first Sunday. She was the sweetest lady and was always talking about how wonderful it was to have a child in the house again. She made me cookies.  
  
I feel guilty.  
  
Now that my uncle was gone, I found myself surrounded by people who wanted to know what that was all about. I didn't really want to tell anyone, but I managed to make the best I could of the situation. I resumed the poker game that had been so rudely interrupted.  
  
A week passed. Now it's Sunday afternoon and I'm sitting in the darkest corner of the lobby that I can find trying not to freak out. I'd have to say I'm not quite succeeding.  
  
The door opened and there stood my aunt.  
  
Wait a minute. My aunt?  
  
I'm too nice for my own good. And that's why I'm sitting here in the carriage, wearing the scarf my aunt knitted for me, going back to her house. And my uncle's house.  
  
Why am I so stupid?  
  
Why?  
  
AN: Ok.I've been bad and haven't updated this in what, 2 weeks? But I did post two chapters.  
  
Hmmm.I'm not sure if I handled the time passing part of this chapter so well. If anyone found it confusing or jumpy tell me and I'll try to fix it.  
  
I just watched the audio commentary on the Newsies DVD. HEHE. I'd say it's all worth it for hearing them talking about Max Casella. . .and how he taught the younger kids on set to gamble. . .hurah for corrupting the youth!  
  
Legs: Hehe, Jack will always be a little bit of a dork to me(even if he's good at hiding it sometimes). Mainly because I know a guy who looks kinda like him. It's spooky. He doesn't look like Christian Bale exactly, but he looks like Jack. Like the part when they're on the steps at the distribution center and Jack just said they should go on strike. Then Race says, "Are you outta your mind?!" and Jack says "It's a good idea!" Right there. That's what my friend Forrest looks like. Again, I say it's spooky. Heh. . .sorry for that random story and THANKS! for reviewing!  
  
Funkiechick: I guess Max was 19- on the audio commentary it said he was. But he was born in 1967, which would make him 24/25 when the movie came out. Geh. I'm confuseled. Thanks for the reviews. . .ah, I feel warm and fuzzy inside( 


	10. Ten

This room brings back memories. Bad memories.  
  
I remember sitting on this very same bench, every Sunday night, waiting for my uncle.  
  
I remember spitting out curses and prayers.  
  
I remember my uncle telling me not to take the Lord's name in vain.  
  
I ran away so I wouldn't have to sit hear again. So why am I?  
  
My uncle came into the room and shut the door behind him. I didn't turn around. I heard him take his belt off and I hunched over. He told me to take my shirt off and I did. Why, I have no idea.  
  
I shut my eyes, hoping that it would all be over soon, and expecting pain.  
  
What I didn't expect was for my uncle to lay the belt lightly around my shoulders, kneel in front of me, look up and say he was sorry for what he did to me.  
  
I'm not really getting what's going on.  
  
"Happy birthday Anthony." My uncle handed me a small package wrapped in brown paper.  
  
Ok, something's a little fishy here.  
  
I slowly tear the paper and there in my lap are my dad's old cards and the dice he gave me. The one's my uncle took away when I moved in with him.  
  
Ok. Now I'm confused.  
  
My 'gambling is a sin!' uncle just gave me cards and dice.  
  
I get the feeling I'm missing something.  
  
The rest of the evening passed in a blur of happiness and laughter, but with a great deal of confusion. My uncle, who beat me once a week because I gambled, said he was sorry.  
  
I don't get it.  
  
He gave me a birthday present. There was cake.  
  
And know I'm standing back outside with the door shut behind me.  
  
With nothing else to do, I start the long walk back to Manhattan.  
  
I'm halfway across the Brooklyn Bridge and I stop.  
  
I seem to be sitting on this bridge a lot lately.  
  
It's not that I need to think about what happened. Actually, it would probably be safer not to. I just need to let everything settle.  
  
Time has passed, and yet I'm still confused.  
  
And who should be walking across the bridge, but Spot Conlon himself.  
  
"Race, is that you?"  
  
"Yup."  
  
He sat down next to me.  
  
"What are you doing here?"  
  
"I like the view." Which is true. Even if there isn't really much to see when it's dark outside.  
  
"Is there something bothering you?"  
  
Spot and Jack are probably the only people who would ask me that and get an honest answer. Spot and I go way back, to when I lived with my uncle. And Jack can ask because he's, well, Jack.  
  
"Not really." It's the truth.  
  
"Then why are you sitting here in the dark on your birthday?" I wasn't looking at him, but I could practically hear him raise an eyebrow.  
  
"Uh." I didn't have an answer.  
  
An awkward little pause decided to work its way into our conversation.  
  
"So, how old are you today?" Thank goodness he changed the subject.  
  
"Seventeen."  
  
Spot was thinking. Like his eyebrows, you could just hear it happening.  
  
"Weren't you seventeen last year?"  
  
"No." I wasn't. I just said I was.  
  
Funny though. No one noticed when I turned seventeen for the second time last year.  
  
"Well, we'd better get back to the lodging house."  
  
"We?" Why would Spot be going to Manhattan?  
  
"For your surprise birthday party. Only, you didn't hear about it from me." He stood up and started walking. I followed.  
  
"How'd they know I'd come back?" Well, besides the fact that I had told them I would. Well, I told Jack I would. He's actually the only person I told that I was leaving.  
  
"Oh, people just know things." Spot can be very vague when he wants to.  
  
By the time we made it to the lodging house I was pretty much back to normal. I was still confused, but I had decided not to let it bother me. I mean, if I got over my uncle beating me, I could surely get over his being nice to me.  
  
After all, I did get a deck of cards and dice out of the deal.  
  
AN: It's finished! As always, please review! I'd really love to know what everyone who read this thought.  
  
My mom said high faluting' today. It was pretty creepy actually, after I stopped laughing. She hasn't seen Newsies so she didn't know why I was cracking up. Somehow she ended up saying 'high falutin' son of a gun'. I'm surprised I didn't choke, I was laughing so hard. I mean, how many phrases are there where I have a mental connection to dancing newsboys?  
  
And yes. . .I'm still wondering who the guy who sings high in Seize the Day is. 


End file.
